There are moments in life when the world loosens its hold on us without warning. They arrive quietly, without ceremony, yet they alter something fundamental in how we experience ourselves. In these moments, we are not defined by place or time, but by a subtle shift inward that feels as though we have stepped just outside the boundaries of both. It is here, in this suspended state, that a question emerges with surprising clarity: Where do I end, and where do I begin? Solitud

Silence is a safe space to gather the pieces. Not the dramatic kind of safety that demands a triumph. Not the kind that waits for a speech, or a confession, or a grand declaration of courage. Silence is gentler than that. It is the quiet room after the storm has passed. The hour before dawn, when the sky has not yet decided what color it will become. The pause between one breath and the next. In silence, the scattered fragments of a life begin to recognize each other again.